


Fantasies

by KittyBandit



Series: Laven Week 2017 [4]
Category: D.Gray-man
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Daydreaming, M/M, Sex, Unrequited Love, fantasies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-10
Updated: 2017-08-10
Packaged: 2018-12-13 19:58:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11767272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KittyBandit/pseuds/KittyBandit
Summary: Laven Week Day 4 - Lavi was never very good at taking what he wanted.





	Fantasies

**Author's Note:**

> Day 4 - (Seven of Hearts) Wishful thinking, Change, Stagnation

Allen’s laugh sounded like wind chimes on a bright summer day, gently rustling with the warm breeze and joined with the twittering of birds. Beautiful. Melodic. Perfection.

His hair was moonlight, white and wispy. Ethereal. It glowed in the sun, under the stars, and framed his face like a halo of angelic light.

His body, lean with muscle, slight yet strong, was devastatingly beautiful. Pale skin, pale hair, pale eyes—like a ghost. A spirit. An apparition. An angel.

And, God, Allen haunted every facet of Lavi’s mind like the gorgeous spectre he was.

“Lavi? Lavi?”

The call pulled him out of his thoughts, and he sat up straight. Allen was watching him with concern, eyebrows pinched tight with worry and pink lips curved downward in a soft frown. Shaking his head, Lavi cleared his throat. “Sorry, I spaced out there for a second. What did you say?”

“I said I need you to look over this report from our last mission and let me know if I missed anything. I know you’re better with details than I am.” Allen passed the folder to Lavi across the table, the dull scrape of paper over the wood grating on his ears.

“No problem, Al. I’m on it!” Lavi grinned—too wide, too pleasant—and took the folder, opening it up and reading over the entry.

Even Allen’s handwriting was beautiful. He couldn’t escape Allen Walker’s charms even with routine work reports. Evening out his breath, Lavi read over the events of their last mission. It had been dull and predictable. They’d arrived at the town, found the Innocence, dispatched a group of Akuma—nothing out of the ordinary. No injuries to report. No Noah sightings. Nothing but a successful mission.

He knew he should’ve been happier, but the tedium left him with a bitter taste settled in the back of his mouth, stale and dry like hardened month-old bread. He had no reason to be this dissatisfied, this ruffled over monotony. Maybe he was bored. Maybe he needed a change.

Maybe it was because he was a total chicken-shit.

His gaze may have been on the report, but his mind was busy reliving his absolutely stunning lack of self-awareness. How had he not realized his infatuation before? When had it gotten this bad, this serious? He had spent the majority of their mission watching Allen, thinking about him, dreaming about him.

The dreams, God… The dreams were the worst.

For ten days they were on that mission, and every night Lavi dreamed of Allen. If the dreams had been normal, he wouldn’t have been so worried. It was normal to dream of friends, acquaintances, enemies, to even dream of ridiculous circumstances, like being able to breathe underwater, or fly, or even playing cards on the moon. Weird dreams he could handle. Even disturbing dreams would’ve been manageable.

But these carnal dreams, pleasures of the flesh, were too much to deal with. Every dream grew progressively erotic, debased, _lewd_. Every night he pushed further in the midnight conjurings of his mind, and every night he grew hungrier.

It had started off innocent enough—kissing. In his dreams he kissed Allen. Gentle at first, a press of warm wet lips on his. Then tongues met, hands roamed over clothing.

But it wasn’t enough. Lavi pushed his Dream Allen further.

Clothes disappeared with ease. Lavi’s hands were on his body, trailing over taut flesh. He kissed skin normally hidden from view, sucked and bit and licked and rutted against Dream Allen until he came over and over and over again. Lavi sucked his fingers, his toes, his neck, his dick; he smoothed his hands over hips and arms and legs and back; he grabbed at his ass, his hair, his thighs. Nothing was off limits. Lavi wanted more, and Dream Allen was insatiable.

The setting change with each instance, sometimes mid-dream. Lavi played with him at the Order, in his or Allen’s room, in hallways and closets, on trains and at inns. Too many places, too many ways he had laid Dream Allen out like a buffet and feasted on his body like a starving man.

Lavi was sick—he had to be to have such vivid, lustful dreams of his friend.

“Does it look good?”

The question jarred Lavi out of his silent musings, a flush of color over his cheeks as he shifted his gaze from the report to Allen’s questioning eyes. “What?”

“The report. Does it look okay?”

Fuck, why had he let his mind wander like that? Lavi swallowed, handing the folder back to Allen, having barely read a sentence. “Looks great! Couldn’t find a single error.” He avoided Allen’s eyes, the concerned look on his face, and tried to busy himself with the book in front of him

Silence spilled between them like water from a tipped over glass, spreading across every surface, filling every crack and crevice.

“Lavi, are you all right?” Allen asked, setting the folder on the table and taking a step closer. He rested his hand on Lavi’s shoulder, friendly, comforting. Even that innocuous touch turned libidinous in his mind.

“Never better, Al.” _Lies, lies lies…_

“It’s just…” Allen trailed off, hesitant before he continued his thought. “You seem off lately. And your face is red. Are you getting sick?”

Lavi wanted to laugh. He was definitely sick, but not in the way Allen had meant.

He wanted to tell him, to tell Allen all his dirty little fantasies. Tell him how he dreamed of fucking Allen, of Allen fucking him, of kisses and touches and moans and cries. He wanted to make every naughty dream a reality. He wanted it all—he wanted _Allen_.

And he had the chance, the opening to express his desires. But as he met Allen’s gaze—innocent, beautiful, silver eyes filled with nothing but friendly concern—Lavi did what he always had in such situations, when his heart and his wants and his desires had the slightest chance of coming to fruition.

He squashed it like a bug.

“Oh? Maybe I’m catching something,” Lavi said, turning back to the book in his hands. “I’m sure it’ll pass quickly.”

Allen hesitated, but nodded, pulling his hand off Lavi’s shoulder. “Okay, if you’re sure. Just get some rest.”

Lavi smiled, feeling more fake than he had in all his nineteen years of life. “Don’t worry. I got it under control.”


End file.
